Autumn In Ganymede
by Captain Antilles1
Summary: Now Spike and Jet, having first me, are at odds with one another! Spike could be in big trouble! Will Jet turn him in? Please R&R!
1. Chapter One - On The Run

~ Autumn In Ganymede ~  
  
(This fanfic is going to be set up like a session, so you can follow it better. It takes place a short time before "Asteroid Blues". Since I am a huge fan of the Cowboy Bebop music and own all the CDs, I am going to state which background music is on during each important scene. If you don't know the music of Bebop or which songs I am referring to, I suggest you download them. Or, help the music industry and buy them! Here it is, my first fanfic!)  
  
Session #0: Autumn In Ganymede  
  
Chapter One - On The Run  
  
"Get out, you no good theif!" The irate store owner grabbed Spike by the collar of his blue jacket, ready to induce some physical harm to Spike for his thievery. Sure, the store owner wouldn't really miss one packet of condensed food; but Spike had let himself get caught. Big mistake.  
  
"I dnnt hoff aneefin!" Spike pleaded through a full mouth. The condensed food tasted like cardboard anyway, but since he hadn't eaten in several days, it tasted good enough. He took a large swallow, clearing his mouth, and then repeated his plea. "I don't have anything! Let me go!" At this, the store owner reached into Spike's back pocket and pulled out a half-eaten condensed food capsule, with most of the wrapping still around it. Spike grinned sheepishly, his mind already drawing up his escape plan. "Whoops! How did that get there? Heh, heh," Spike looked into the eyes of the man, distressed at the anger present there. He tried a different excuse. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I thought it was a free sample. I grew up on Mars, and each store there gives out a free sample. You don't do that here on Ganymede?" At that, the man glowered angrily. The store owner spat as he retorted, "I grew up on Mars too, you thieving liar. The only thing free on Mars is trouble."  
  
Spike had to agree with him there. Since he had escaped Mars, only two months before, he had done a lot of thinking. And all he had seen on Mars was trouble. Now, everyone there thought he was dead. And Julia was... he didn't know. Now was certainly not the time to reminisce. The big man was tightening his grip on Spike's neck.  
  
"Oh... well, Mister, maybe you can sympathize with me! Life on Mars is rough, no?" The man said nothing. Spike realized it was now or never, for a few people were starting to watch. Apparently this satellite didn't have any trouble with petty theft. Spike made a shocked face, gasping in horror at something just over the man's shoulder. "Sir, what the hell is THAT?" The dull-witted man turned around instantly and as he did, Spike lept for the door. He was there in two steps of his long legs, and he made it a point to knock over a tall display on his way out.  
  
(Music - "Too Good Too Bad")  
As he dashed out of the mini-mart, he heard the big man yelling. He turned around and saw the man come out of the store holding a double-barrel shotgun. "Great," muttered Spike. Right then, he slammed into a large, bald man who was walking out of the alley in front of him. He seemed to have metal over one of his eyes, and Spike immediatly thought of his own glass eye. The man also had a metal arm. He seemed to Spike to be one tough mother. Spike tried to run past him on the sidewalk, but the man held him by the shoulders with his massive hands. "What are you running around the streets of Ganymede for! Slow down, kid!" The big man's voice was gruff but showed compassion. Spike replied, "Saving my ass. Again." With this Spike squirmed away from the man and sprinted down the busy sidewalk. Jumping over garbage cans, leaping over carts, and dodging pedestrians. A shot fired, a cartridge whooshing over Spike's head. Spike ducked under a hover-car, then rolled past an ISSP officer. The officer stepped in line with the shop owner and his assistant as they gave chase. Spike jumped into an alley, ran around a dumpster, popped out of the alley... and right into a traffic jam. Spike slid over the hood of a sleek sportscar, denting the flawless bodywork, and recieving an enraged insult from the driver and his lady friend. The cop came out of the alley first, firing a shot at Spike and hitting the same sportscar in the back windshield. Another angry call.from the driver, something about a lawyer, but the cop paid him no heed. The store owner raised his shotgun. Spike had nowhere to run. He started to raise his arms in the air, wondering what kind of punishment he was going to get. If, that was, the store owner didn't shoot him outright.   
  
"There we are, kid. Nowhere to go, except downtown. Officer, I have this boy on theft, property damage, and trying to escape the police." Spike sneered at them. "Oh, yeah? That's nothing compared to what I have seen. Officer, this guy had rough handling of a citizen, property damage, and wielding of a firearm in public." The ISSP man glared at the store owner, who gave his best attempt at a 'Who, me?" look. The cop, who obviously was frustrated easily and had little patience, proclaimed "Alright, enough! I'm taking you both down to the station!" As he started across the street towards Spike, a battered up truck swerved into his path. The cop couldn't get around him on the crowded street, and he howled in anger as Spike escaped down the street. Spike chanced a look back, and saw the robotic-armed man from before, smiling at him.  
  
Spike let his shoeless foot swing off the dock, his toes dipping into the icy water. His jacket lay on the dock next to him, and his tie was hanging loose around his neck. He gazed out at the bright reflection of Jupiter on the horizon. As the moon rotated and the sun disappeared from sight, Jupiter's bright red reflection cast eerie shadows on the water. Ganymede is a truly beautiful place, thought Spike. As beautiful as a place as he could hope to be, after leaving his life behind on Mars. Spike reflected for some time, sitting there on the dock. About Vicious... about the Red Dragon Syndicate... about Julia...  
  
Spike decided to go to a bar and drink away his troubles.  
  
Stay Tuned For Chapter Two - A Chance Encounter 


	2. Chapter Two - A Chance Encounter

Thanks for the good reviews, guys. Second installment:  
  
Chapter Two - A Chance Encounter  
  
(Music: - "Waltz For Zizi" - OST 1, Track 8)  
Spike dragged his feet as he walked into the dark, smoky bar. It was early evening, but the bar was almost empty. The barkeep nodded to Spike, and poured him a strong drink. Spike took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked it into an ashtray. The bartender could tell that Spike needed another drink, and poured it without a word. A young man walked up to Spike and tried to start a friendly conversation; Spike ignored him, and watched a monitor displaying weather conditions on all the inhabuted planets and asteroids. He lit another cigarette absent-mindedly, then extinguished the glowing butt with equal boredness.  
  
Spike was thinking about all he had left, and he realized it wasn't much. Vicious had always hated him, they had always contended for the Syndicate's approval. And most of the time, Spike got it. Vicious tended to kill a target, while Spike almost never failed to bring them to the Council alive. And in that final, explosive fight, Vicious had left him to die. Without a second thougt, Vicious had left him on the sidewalk. And then Julia had rescued him... her sweet song was running through Spike's mind even now. He was suddenly interrupted by a deep voice that was strangely familiar...  
  
"You're lucky you escaped the ISSP today, kid. I could've turned you in, but I didn't. You reminded me of myself too much. Have a round on me." The cyborg-man waved to the barkeep, and he brought a large bottle that was hidden underneath the bar to view, pouring small glasses for each of them. Only then did Spike look up into the man's eyes.  
  
"Who are you? Why did you help me today?" Spike asked, not really expecting an answer.  
"My name is Jet, Jet Black. As to why I helped you... I don't really know. I guess I saw that at your age, that's exactly what I was doing... trying to stay alive on the streets. What brings you to Ganymede? You don't sound like a local."  
  
Spike replied, "I'm here cause this is where the first transport off Mars was going. As to trying to stay alive, I could care less. I'm only alive because of a woman. I'm just in a bad dream I never woke up from." He finished his drink, and stood up to leave. "Thanks anyway, Jet. And I saw your ISSP insignia, too. Don't try to befriend criminals anymore." With that, Spike walked out, leaving the door swinging in his wake. Jet stared after him, then got up and left himself.  
  
Back outside, Spike realized how cold it was on Ganymede. He walked slowly back to his motel room, if you could call it that. It was almost the size of a broom closet, and the mattress rotted away about a decade ago. But it was all Spike could afford. Spike fell asleep as soon as he lay down, dreaming about Julia.  
  
Stay tuned for Chapter Three - All In A Day's Work! Same bat-time, same bat-channel! 


	3. Chapter Three - All In A Day's Work

So sorry. It's been like... two months since I updated this. I forogt about it, and then didn't know what to write. Hopefully this is satisfactory!  
  
Chapter Three: All In A Day's Work  
(Music: "Diggin' My Potato" - OST 1, Track 16)  
Spike awoke to a sharp prodding in his ribs. A moment later, Spike's senses came back to conciousness and he was aware of an insistent voice. "Hey, you. I need to clean this room. Unless you got money for another night, get out of here! It's already noon!" Spike sat up slowly, nonchalantly. The woman kept poking him with the broom-handle and calling for him to leave the motel. Spike opened his mouth in a tremendous yawn, and shoved a cigarette into his open mouth. He reached for his pants, hanging on the bed-post next to him, pulling them on under the covers of the bed. He rolled out from under the ratty blanket, then nodded to the woman sarcastically. "Thanks for the great service, Miss." The woman frowned with disdain, and Spike pulled on his shirt, holstered his gun, emptied the pack of cigarettes into his pants pocket, and shuffled out the door and into the bright afternoon.  
  
Spike Spiegel walked the streets of Ganymede, no destination in mind. He was hoping he could hitch a ride off this moon and get to somewhere worth his time. Ganyemede was too pretty for him. The scenery and foliage contrasted sharply with Spike's only memories of life: buildings and streets, ghettos and hoodlums, the rundown Martian city under its large protective bubble. The land outside the protective pocket of atmosphere and climate control was a harsh, desolate, blood-red wasteland. However, that wasteland was comforting, the only thing Spike knew. With a sneer, Spike remembered that the color of the Martian soil was about the same color as a rose. Or blood.  
  
(Music: "The Singing Sea" - No Disc, OST 2)  
Spike lost track of time while he was losing himself in his memories. He looked up and found himself at the wharf. A long series of docks stretched out into the cool, blue ocean. Tied to the docks were various fishing ships, trawlers, tug-boats, and speeders. Fishermen and crew swarmed around the docks, tending to their ships or getting ready to leave. The entire wharf had an old-fashioned feel to it. It was even built out of wood. On his left, he spotted several burly fishermen laughing as they stepped down a set of stairs into a restaurant called, "Treasure From The Sea." The title was followed by a poor cartoon of an old pirate of the seas, complete with eye-patch and scimitar. Spike leaned on the nearest wall and lazily watched the waves calmy crash against the shore.  
  
"Excuse me, criminal," a rough voice said, shaking Spike from his daydreams. Spike looked up and saw the giant man from the bar pushing Spike off to the side. "Wha... oh, it's you. What was your name? Jet Speed? Jet Slack?" The man harumphed condescendingly. "It is Jet Black, kid. If you'll excuse me, I'm trying to read the poster that you are so casually leaning on." Spike smiled for a moment, then stood up, revealing an advertisement behind him. "What's it say?" Spike asked dully. Jet growled back, "If you'll be quiet and let me read, maybe I could tell you." Spike rolled his eyes indignantly, but shut up for the time being.  
  
Jet finished reading the flyer, then put his hat on his head and headed off towards the "Treasure" restaurant at a brisk pace, a wide smile on his face. Spike turned and took Jet's former position, stooped over and squinting at the small writing. He read aloud, "Attention fishermen! Need a cheap boat you can fix up? Auction. Used fishing ships, trawlers, and steam-boats. April 14, from 10 AM until 2 PM. Only hard woolongs will be accepted: no credit please. Sponsered yy the Ganymede Sea Protection Agency (GSPA)." Spike finished his cigarette, spit it onto the street, and groped through his pocket for another one. His hands found nothing but the rough fabric of his pants. Spike softly cursed, then walked towards the site of the auction with nothing better to do. A sea-rat skittered across the dock, dving headlong into the cold ocean with a splash.  
  
(Music: "Cat Blues" - OST 1, Track 5)  
"DO I HEAR A THIRTY GRAND? THIRTY,THIRTY, THIRTY, MAN IN THE BACK, THIRTY-FIVE, ANYONE THIRTY-FIVE, YES WOMAN WITH THE GREEN DRESS YES FORTY? ANY FORTY? FORTY GRAND? THIRTY-FIVE ONCE, TWICE, SOLD TO THE WOMAN IN THE GREEN DRESS!" The auctioneer sold at a blistering place, exchanging syllables, pronunciation, and clarity for speed and intensity. There was a modest turn-out, and an old, beat up tug-boat had just been sold. The woman in the green dress scoffed at the insignificant price for her vast fortunes, pulling out two W 20,000 notes. Spike stood near the back, watching the festivities and feeling dwarfed by the crowd. The auctioneer brought out the next ship with an equal speed and excitement. It was an older fishing boat, with large turbines and a very asymmetric design. The ship's nose pointed up out of the water, and the generators near the back showed that the ship was capable of space flight. That would have been a given, but the GSPA was selling some real old clunkers today. One couldn't be too sure. The large, ungainly vehicle had the name "The BeBop" power-sprayed onto the side in yellowing paint.  
  
"GOT AN OLD FISHER FOR YOU, GOOD AS NEW DO I SEE A TWENTY? TWENTY FOR THIS ONE? TWENTY? TWENTY TO THE BALD MAN, THIRD ROW. TWENTY-FIVE, YES YOU IN THE MIDDLE. THIRTY? THIRTY? YES, THIRTY TO THE MAN WITH THE BIONIC ARM! THIRTY-FIVE? NO-ONE? NO THIRTY-FIVE? YES, THIRTY-FIVE TO THE MAN WITH THE GREEN HAIR!."  
  
Spike didn't know why he had bid. The ship itself left much to be desired. But Spike sensed that under the rusty exterior, a true working ship lay underneath. Of course, Spike hadn't seen W 35,000 in several months, but he had gotten out of paying things before. Mainly by running or shooting, but he could think of a way.  
  
"GOING ONCE, GOING TWICE, AND... FORTY GRAND TO THE MAN WITH THE BIONIC ARM!"  
  
Spike raised his eye-brows, surprised. Jet kept his hand held high, and threw an incrminating look back towards Spike. Spike smiled sarcastically.  
  
"GOING ONCE..."  
  
Jet had lowered his large arm, but was still glaring back at Spike.  
  
"GOING TWICE..."  
  
In an effort to divert the man's cold stare, Spike waved at him, motioning with his arm to turn around in his seat.  
  
"GOING... OH! FORTY-FIVE TO THE MAN WITH THE GREEN HAIR!"  
  
Spike gulped in surprise, choking on his sharp intake of air. The auctioneer counted down, raised the hammer, and dropped it with a loud, ringing finality. Spike took a deep breath, wiped his forehead in the hot mid-day sun, and sighed. The next item was presented, and the auction went on. Spike grimaced at the thought of having to run away now, leaving his debts behind and an irate Jet Black. He had vowed to keep his nose clean, at least for a while, and stay out of the police records on any more planets. He already had quite a file on Mars.  
  
Coming soon... Chapter 4: "Let's Make A Deal!" 


	4. Chapter Four - Let's Make A Deal

Autumn In Ganymede, Chapter Four: Let's Make A Deal  
  
(I'm so sorry I haven't updated in months... I finally devoted myself to write again... be nice and review. If I get reviews then I write more...)  
  
(Music: "You Make Me Cool")  
"What the hell is your problem, kid?" Jet Black angrily spat at the morose Spike. "You know you can't back up that payment! You're just street trash! Why'd you bid at the last second, anyway? Are you even listening to me??" Jet paused to catch his breath. Spike tossed his cigarette into the water and watched the soggy ashes float on the murky surface. Spike resginedly repeated his excuse. "It was an accident. A mistake. I told you already. I wasn't trying to outbid you." Jet would have none of it. Just as he was about to launch into another line of criticism and interogation, Spike interjected, "What is it about that old fishing ship, anyway?"  
  
Jet took a deep breath, and joined Spike at gazing into the water sloshing around the docks. "It has... certain sentimental connections for me, okay?" Spike nodded, groping through his jacket for the slim packet of cigarettes he seeked. "Whatever, Jet." Jet looked up, staring the lean young man in the face. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "You need to let me buy that ship. Do you understand? I will give you the forty five thousand you undoubtedly don't have to pay the city for that ship. Then," Jet paused to make sure his meaning was understood, "you owe me the balance, the five thousand woolongs that I wouldn't have had to pay if it wasn't for your 'mistake'." Jet leaned back on a wooden post and crossed his arms assertively.  
  
Spike's eyes bulged in surprise for a moment, and then he realized the jam he was in. He sighed deeply, realizing that nothing had changed. He was always "wanted" for something, whether it be wanted by the police for unlawful Syndicate actvity, wanted by the Synidcate for betrayal, or wanted by an ex-cop for an insignificant wave of the hand worth 45,000 woolongs. Finally giving up on the unfruitful search for his cigarettes, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and closed his eyes. Why me? he thought. First Julia, then the escape, and now this. Five-thousand woolongs? Insignificant, normally, but quite a sum for someone who didn't have a single woolong to their name. He began to be lost in his thoughts and in the hypnotic rhythym of the surf, but he was sharply snapped backed to reality by Jet's gruff, angry voice. "Well?" he barked. When Spike failed to reply, Jet demanded, "You do have five thousand woolongs, right?"  
  
Spike finally looked up at the man. "Yes, of course," he lied easily. Jet dug into his pocket, pulled out a wad of wrinkled bills, and handed them reluctantly to Spike. "Don't lose this, and don't try anything funny, either," Jet warned. But Spike knew better and he walked determinedly twoards the auction's redeeming booth to pay for his prize. He looked back once, and noticed that Jet was not taking his eyes off of him for on moment.  
  
The crowd had mostly dispersed. The people who were left were stragglers, either talking amongst themselves or watiing in line to pay for thier merchandise. The line moved slowly, and by the time Spike made it to booth, there was very few people left on the wharf. "Hey buddy," the bored volunteer said, "lemme see your receipt." Spike hadn't noticed how hungry he was until he stood there, waiting for the man in front of him to find the ship iin his notes and discover how much Spike owed him. His stomach groaned, and he thought the man would never look up from his notebook pages, covered in shorthand. "The old fishing ship, right? That's Forty-five grand, sir." Spike reluctnantly shoved the bills across the folding card table, losing the confident feeling one gets when their pockets are full of legitimate cash. As the man counted the money, he nosily asked, "Awful lot for a clunker like that, dontcha think? Yous coulda gotten one for a lot cheaper. Heck, I'da sold ya my old ship for twenty-five, maybe thirty grand." Spike refused to acknowledge the obnoxious man, and stood in uncomfortable silence until he was asked to sign the recepit marking the purchase.  
  
After a few seconds consideration, Spike signed "Jet Black" as his name in the ownership form. He figured that he wouldn't be keeping the ship anyway. He might as well sign in the name of the real owner. But the main reason he signed under the false name was that he figured that the fewer amount of clues he gave that he was still alive, the better. He didn't know how far the Red Dragons would go to make sure Spike was really dead. They may or may not have bought the fact that his body was blown up in the rubble of the cathedral. If the Van thought he was still alive, they would undoubtedly send people after him. And if Vicious knew he was still alive, he would come after him alone. Spike couldn't decide which would be worse. But in order to keep that disaster from happening, he hadn't signed his real name to anything since he had faked his death. And he wasn't about to start. "Come again, Mr. Black," the cashier called to Spike's back.  
  
Jet met him halfway down the dock. "Alright. So the ship is mine now, right?" Spike nodded emphatically, glad to have the man and the whole ordeal off his back. He turned to leave, wondering where to spend the night tonight, but Jet's strong hand gripped his shoulder and turned him around. "Hey, Spike! My money. I believe it was five thousand woolongs. Pay up."  
  
Spike gulped, took a deep breath, and tried to sound convincing. "You see," he said nervously, "I don't have it with me." He glanced into Jet's cold, steel eyes, and quickly averted his stare back to the ground in front of him. "I wouldn't carry that kind of money all around town like that. It's, uh, back at my house." Once again, Jet didn't believe him. "I thought you were from off-planet, kid. That's what you said." Spike, trying to cover up, fumbled his words like a student giving his first oral report in front of class. "When I said that, of course I didn't mean, I mean, I was from off-planet, but I live here now. Down on the, uh, the street by the beach." Jet angrily spat back, "Most of Ganymede is a beach! I see what you're doing. You don't have the money. And you're planning to have me let you go so you can get the money, and you'll take off. Well, no way. You better find that money, or else I'll take this to the police. And let me tell you, I have a lot of friends there." Jet grabbed the collar of Spike's jacket. The last thing Spike wanted was more police records.  
  
"Listen," Spike pleaded, drawing back from Jet's looming face, "you're right. I don't have the money now. But I'll get it to you. By... tomorrow. You have to trust me!" Spikes mind was already reeling with ways to get money overnight. The only ones he could think of were illegal, and all included theft of some kind. Great way to stay inconspicuous, Spike thought bitterly. Jet merely tightened his grip on Spike's collar. Spike, looking around for possible escape routes, whimpered, "I told you I could get you the money, don't you believe me?" It was obvious that Jet didn't.  
  
Stay tuned for the next suspenseful chapter... but ONLY if you review, you dig? This is Captain Antilles signing off. 


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